If life is a series of highs and lows, a significant low was last Monday night, when I had that awful feeling in the pit of my stomach as I listened to snatches of a phone conversation between No.1 son and his father. The words, ‘accident’, ‘hospital’, ‘burns’ and ‘operation’ have an immediate chilling effect…a week on and many phone calls later, progress is being made, but I am noticing how far away Cyprus is from the UK and how frustrating communication can be when you really need to be there. One of the worst afternoons was spent in a phone shop, talking on a helpline and trying to get texts through to certain UK mobiles. Farmer boys excelled themselves last Monday, as they both made appearances in different A&E departments, their sister was warned about not making it a hat-trick.

So low points and injuries apart, there have been some highs as well. The last of the items to be unpacked were our bikes, which we eventually re-assembled last night. This involved re-attaching brakes, turning handle bars and fixing pedals…and this took some time. I did a great job of holding the bikes steady while the Major did all the main repositioning and adjustments – phew! After several false starts…flat tyre, no pump, no thing that attaches to the pump, no helmet, saddle too high – we set off just before sunset and toured the village slow time. Cycling past houses you see a lot more that driving. There were glimpses of families sitting down to meals outside with the table all set and Grandma carrying out a tray of glasses. Little painted bungalows, with doors wide open, revealing paintings of saints on the walls, heavily draped furniture, pots adorning terraces and tumbling with pink, blue and orange flowers. The men smoking on the tables at the bar on the corner, all gave us a long hard stare – that must have been the Major’s lycra! But a high point was watching a stunning pink sun slide behind the mountains in the distance, framed by fields with rolls of hay and the pine trees across the road. It’s good to be here.

Banking is also a very different experience here in Cyprus. When we arrived to open a new account at the little bank in the village, we were greeted by our unforgettable bank manager. While an amenable chap called George filled out the onerous forms on-line, the manager offered us a bowl of juicy plums from his garden. Delicious. Ah, then there was a series of jokes..mostly about priests! Each time he returned there was a new one. Then, as the minutes ticked by, he wandered out to the kitchen to make us coffee himself. Here the thick black coffee comes with a glass of iced water on the side…but he hadn’t finished there were more jokes – actually quite funny ones too. Then we were treated to the liquor….made from some kind of oranges. But only a single miniature glass – this is strong stuff. I have never been made to feel so welcome at the bank! Barclays eat your heart out – the Cypriots know about hospitable banking. I know what you’re thinking. Crisis…what crisis?